Drunk & Disorderly
by Metallicafangirl
Summary: Slytherin Secret Services meet once a week, and hand out tasks. This week, Blaise has gotten a particularly difficult one....One Shot


This was inspired by some random conversation on the HMS Overworked & Underappreciated thread on FAP. We were discussing what Blaise and Hermione would be like drunk, and whether there would be any consequences the day after. I'm using one spawned plot bunny in my Slytherin Vengeance fic, in Book 2, but it will have nothing to do with this one-shot.  
  
Dsiclaimer; I do not own the characters or locations presented within this story, they belong to JK Rowling. I only own the title, as it was my random rambles that spawned it.  
  
*******'  
  
Drunk and Disorderly  
  
*******'  
  
It had all begun on a very normal Friday afternoon. Classes had just ended, and all students with enough brain capacity to put two and two together and come up with four realised that they now had two and a half days of nothing but spare time to catch up on their sleep, their assignments and, if they chose, their extracurricular activities. Hogwarts did not offer many other extracurricular activities than Quidditch, but students had long ago learned to make up their own, and these activities tended to be less proper than those offered by the school.  
  
The Ravenclaw Appreciation Society had been having a protest-list tacked up in the girl's bathroom, petitioning for better treatment of Ravenclaws for weeks now, and the Inter-House Welfare group were organising their seventh ever meeting in the Divination Tower. Hufflepuffs Anonymous had been meeting in the Hufflepuff Common Room since the beginning of term, and Gryffindor Supporters gathered at the Quidditch pitch each Friday. The oldest society however, while definitely not respectful then at least respected, met in a small, non-descript room in the far reaches of the castle, and spoke of many things. They spoke of things that are, things that were, and things that had not yet come to pass, while trying to find inspirational speeches in old dusty books about elves and rings.  
  
No, the Slytherin Secret Services were not like others at all. First off, it was lead by Draco Malfoy, which set it apart considerably from the others. The Triple S society met every Friday, and went through a list. The list was made up of things that the members had to have done by Monday morning. There were two things each member had to do, and if said member got unlucky, they had to do several more as well, and most often, the tasks consisted of things that would not have been out of place in a Truth or Dare game. Many members had tried to withdraw, but as they were so few, Draco would not let them. Blaise, whom had many times tried to pitch Draco out the window at these occasions, had finally given in and accepted the tasks, even though they were sometimes gruesome.  
  
"So, this weeks tasks are as follows," Draco said, reading from a long roll of parchment, "Blaise; you have to find a way to get into the Gryffindor Common Room. You have to go in there and bring something back as proof. Penalty for not succeeding; three days of doing the other members' homework, no excuses. Since your task is so large, you're excluded from the second one this week."  
  
"Gee, thanks," Blaise muttered, glaring at the platinum blonde annoyance.  
  
It wasn't as if breaking into the Gryffindor Common Room was hard at all, or anything. It just meant he had to sneak the password out of a definitely hostile Gryffindor student, wake up the portrait and argue with it and then sneak inside without being mobbed by Gryffindors and bring something back for his troubles. With that future prospect, he would be happy if he returned with all limbs intact. Gryffindors were vicious.  
  
The meeting was adjourned, and Blaise got up from his seat, already planning his breaking and entering mission. It was definitely not going to be an easy task; but one thing did make it easier. Since it was weekend, he did not have to wear the Slytherin tie, and he was not a very sociable Slytherin in the first place, so he doubted that people would recognise him as one. But there was still the slight snag of having to get the password somehow; it wasn't as if he could walk straight up to a Gryffindor and ask for it.  
  
Several possible plans began to form in his mind, but each one grew more and more insane as he went. He couldn't break in, because the portrait would raise the alarm, and seducing one of the younger Gryffindor girls was out of the question as it would take more than two days to accomplish, and seducing the older ones left him to choose between the two-headed-but-no- brained entity that was Brown and Patil or, he shuddered, Granger. Potter was too strong to bully, Longbottom would've forgotten the password in any case, and the other three were just not worth bothering with. Younger students were possible to bully, but they would run straight to Potter or a prefect, and then he'd be busted.  
  
His aimless walk led him closer and closer to the library, a place where he rarely went; his own personal library was much better in his opinion, and much more specialised. There were books in his library that Madame Pince had only seen in her wet dreams at night. However, he preferred not to dwell on the librarian's sexual fantasies, and pushed the door open. In there, he might get some peace and quiet to formulate his plan.  
  
Dust rose from the floor when he pulled the chair out to sit down; it was obvious that aside from Ravenclaws and Granger, no one ever came here. Speaking of Granger and Gryffindors in general, wasn't that her over there now? She was sitting at a table far enough away that he couldn't see the colour of her eyes, although he was quite sure they were brown. Why he had collected such useless information about Granger he had no answer to, but he had, and had filed the reason under "Things to ponder when Voldemort gets blue eyes."  
  
Granger was, in many ways, the most confusing person he had ever come across. Smart enough to be in Ravenclaw, loyal to shame most Hufflepuffs, yet with the blockheadedness one associated with Gryffindor. From what he'd seen though, she had no Slytherin qualities, unless slapping Draco Malfoy and getting away with it counted. And she was the best friend of Harry Potter. How this fitted into the scheme of things he had yet to figure out. Oh, scheme, that rung a bell. Wait; the mission he'd gotten from Draco.  
  
How the hell was he supposed to get inside the Gryffindor Common Room? It wasn't as if he knew where it was, or even knew the password if he did manage to find it. The only way would be to trick some Gryffindor into telling him; he had no time to eavesdrop if he wanted it done by Monday morning. Granger was a potential victim, although she would be hard to convince. Scratch that; she would be impossible to convince, unless..  
  
Unless what? He charmed her so bad she'd jump off the Astronomy Tower for him? That wasn't likely to happen in this lifetime; she'd rather date a skunk than give him the password to their Common Room. What he needed was to get her so drunk that she dropped those strict moral rules and ethics for just a moment. One moment was all he needed to convince her. Then he'd dump her in an alley somewhere and steal something from their Common Room. But how to get her anywhere near alcohol?  
  
"Hermione," He heard, and looked up immediately.  
  
There was that Brown girl and Weasley, at Granger's table. They appeared to be trying to convince Granger of something. His brain immediately gearing into eavesdropping mode, he settled down to listen closely. He might even get some clues.  
  
"No Lavender, I will not go with you to Hogsmeade just for fun!" Granger sighed, "I have studying to do, and if I don't do it now, it will never get done. Now shoo; I've got work to do!"  
  
As they left, Blaise allowed himself a small but very evil grin. Now he had a perfectly good reason to drag her off into Hogsmeade and get her roaring drunk; he could claim Dumbledore or some other figure of authority ordered him to, and be able to drag her around randomly without her protesting too much. If he was random enough, she might even consider him a dangerous madman and agree with whatever he asked her to, and he wouldn't have to spend insane amounts of money on alcohol to get her pissed.  
  
But then again, thinking about her skill with her wand, dragging her off for no reason might not be a good idea. He rather liked his hair the way it was; blue would not be a good colour on him, and he had a sneaking suspicion that was what Granger would turn it in to. He had no illusions when it came to her; none at all. Not after what she had done together with Potter and Weasley; playing knock-and-run on the Dark Lord's door was not something for the faint of heart. Well, he would just have to scrap that idea and wait around for the next one to appear. They generally did after a Butterbeer or two, which was the main reason to why he had been studying at the Three Broomsticks during his fifth year.  
  
********'  
  
The Three Broomsticks was crowded, as ever, and Blaise retreated to a table in the corner, a bottle of something less than legal in his left hand and an empty glass in his right. He nodded to Millicent on his way there; she was sitting next to a scared-looking Hufflepuff fourth year, plying him with Butterbeer and smiling the whole time. Millicent smiling was a rather frightening experience unless you came prepared. Zarias Bletchley, having graduated last year, was sitting off to the side, speaking to some Quidditch-recruiting-looking people. That was the only term Blaise could come up with, however strange it might be.  
  
He sat down somewhere near the middle, although distance was hard to tell in a room full of loud people, and tried to look around without straining his neck too much. There were many Slytherins here this early in the day, as well as a good number of Hufflepuffs. Despite all appearances, he liked Hufflepuffs. They didn't get into trouble, and didn't mess about with strange magic like the Ravenclaws did. Not that he disliked Ravenclaws; it was just that their obsession with knowledge got on his nerves at times.  
  
Pouring some of the less than legal liquid (Winkle's Old Peculiar, the colour and substance of old ink) in his glass, Blaise settled back to figure out a new plan to get into the Gryffindor's Common Room. Tricking it out of a student wouldn't do it, and getting it out of McGonagall was bloody impossible, so he might as well abandon that thought immediately. His only chance was overhearing it, really; but this late in the term, they would have no reason to tell each other, and since even Longbottom, who had forgotten the password more times in a week than Blaise had done in seven years, had learned it by now, that was next to impossible as well.  
  
Only a few hours into his mission, and he was already getting desperate. Sure, giving him the assignment was a sign that Draco either believed him good enough to do it, or just the right person to throw to the wolves. Vicious, gold-and-red furred wolves with especially sharp fangs, if he was any judge. Fangs edged with poison. No, wait; that was a Slytherin trait. Gryffindors wouldn't do something as daring and utterly evil as poison their fangs. And once again, his train of thought had left the station without him.  
  
Without an invitation or even so much as a warning alarm, Hermione Granger plopped down in the seat opposite him. It was, of course, entirely possible that she had not noticed him at all, although that seemed a bit of a stretch. He was, after all, well over six-foot-seven, and wearing a green turtleneck which would have stood out anywhere. He liked to think that he was not as forgettable that he was worth ignoring that way. Thinking anything else would be a blow to his self-esteem. He considered making his presence known, but opted not to, and sipped his drink instead.  
  
Granger seemed upset over something; she kept glancing over at the opposite end of the crowded room, as if looking for someone. Each time, she turned back again with a sigh and stared at the tabletop, still not giving him a glance. Blaise began to suspect there had been something in the drink that had made him invisible. It wasn't impossible, after all; stranger things had happened. Uric the Oddball, for example; now that was someone that went beyond strangeness and a good way into seriously weird. He tried to catch a look at what Granger was so interested in, and managed to see a flash of red hair, as well as a long mane of blonde. Weasley had to be the owner of the red one, and the only blonde person with that long hair that went within a mile of him voluntarily had to be that ditzy-acting Gryffindor bint, Brown or something.  
  
Ah. Well, he should have seen it coming; Granger and Weasley had been dancing circles around each other since fourth year; though Weasley always seemed more interested in Granger than the other way around. And of course, the whole school knew; it wasn't as if rows that loud could be hidden, especially if they were held in the corridors. This was the first time he had seen Weasley out with someone other than a member of the Unholy Trinity though. Maybe he had gotten some sense into him and had moved on. Things would be a lot quieter if he did. Granger didn't seem too happy though; she had given up staring and was now sighing a lot and looking generally down. Boy-trouble had to be as difficult as girl-trouble, he supposed, although he hadn't been hit too hard by either.  
  
Just general trouble seemed to be heading his way though; Granger was looking suspiciously teary-eyed. Great; she'd start bawling her eyes out not ten feet away. If only he had chosen to go to the Hog's Head instead. Sighing silently, he pulled another glass out of his pocket, where he always kept odds and ends, and poured another glass of Winkle's Old Peculiar and pushed it across the table to Granger. As it hit her hand, she looked up and jumped slightly aty the sight of him.  
  
"Drink up, Granger. This is the only time you're getting something from me without paying for it, so you better take it before I change my mind," He warned her.  
  
"What is it?" She asked, looking at it suspiciously.  
  
"Something stronger than Butterbeer," He replied, sipping his own drink, "Now, drink up. I haven't poisoned it you know."  
  
With one last hesitant look at him, she grabbed the glass and drank. Leaning back in his chair, Blaise allowed himself to slip into a comfortable, half-asleep state of mind.  
  
*****'  
  
In hindsight, he should just have left her there, sniffling to herself. Of course, by now, who knew what might have happened; it wasn't as if he was very sober himself anymore. An uncounted number of Winkles did that to you, and he had lost count a long, long time ago. Even the tabletop was starting to go unfocused.  
  
He hadn't been drunk too many times in his life, but he recognised the signs all too well. After he got sufficient enough amount of alcohol in his blood system, his head would go funny. He would come up with silly, random and definitely insane ideas, and everyone, and he truly meant everyone, would look attractive from the bottom of a bottle. Even Granger, though not especially ugly to begin with, was looking like sex on two legs. Thankfully, he was easily distracted when intoxicated, so he did not have to act on that idea.  
  
"You know, curfew's up soon," He slurred slightly on the words, "Wanna go back to the castle?"  
  
"Sure," Granger agreed with him, grinning widely, "If you can stop the world from spinning."  
  
Standing up, not exactly steady but not falling over either, he held out his hand to help her up. Madam Rosmerta shook her head as they stumbled out the door, smiling to herself. Those two wouldn't make it to their separate beds until tomorrow morning, if she was any judge. They might make it to one bed, but not one each. Definitely not one each. She could hear the slightly less intoxicated boy explain something to Hermione Granger outside, talking as a parent would to a child.  
  
"The castle is a long way away, and if we walk, we won't get there until mornin'," He said, "And if we don't sleep in our beds t'night, we'll get detention. Understand?"  
  
"But I don't wanna ride a broomschtick," Hermione slurred. "I'm 'fraid o' heights."  
  
Blaise laughed; Granger, afraid of heights? Well, he really should have known. There had to be a reason for her absolute refusal to come close to a broomstick at all. She was standing there, arms crossed and pouting, refusing to get on the broomstick. He really shouldn't be flying when he was this drunk, but he had no choice if he wanted to get any sleep that night. Pulling Granger along by the hand, he got to the edge of Hogsmeade. As long as she would sit still, he was sure he could manage to fly to Hogwarts; it wasn't too far by broomstick.  
  
He would have no worries about Granger sitting still, as he realised when they were about ten feet up in the air. She was clinging to him for all that she was worth, with a death-grip around his waist. Her face was buried in his shoulder, and she was mumbling incoherently. He grinned, somewhat insanely, and headed for Hogwarts.  
  
******'  
  
The fat Lady was greeted by the sight of a giggling Hermione and a more than a little drunk Blaise staggering their way through the corridor, whispering things to each other. It was by now a lot later than curfew, and it certainly did not take three hours to fly from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. Blaise had some vague memories of the last few hours, but couldn't place them anywhere. He seemed to remember a room full of fussy things, and a stair that wasn't there. He had a distinct memory of falling down, and another of a pot of green paint, although the paint did not fit in with the rest of it. Either way, it did not matter much by now.  
  
Sanity was far from Blaise's mind as they made their way to the portrait hole of Gryffindor. There was something he had to do there, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was; it had something to do with Hermione, and something to do with Draco, and a bit to do with Gryffindor, although he loathed to put those words into one sentence, together. He didn't recall when the transition from Granger to Hermione had taken place either, but it hardly mattered. His hand had mysteriously ended up in hers, and he had a feeling that he shouldn't be enjoying it very much, but he was.  
  
"Porcupine," Hermione said suddenly, and he blinked. He knew drunkenness often resulted in random comments, but there was nothing that had prompted that one.  
  
Belatedly, he realised it must have been the password, because the portrait swung open. Tugging at his hand, Hermione climbed in and he had no choice but to follow her, as she refused to let go of his hand. Balance had deserted him somewhere along the way, and he stumbled inside and landed with nary a sound on the thick carpet. He blinked and looked around the Common Room, and was once more overwhelmed by a feeling of unfairness.  
  
Why did Gryffindors get cosy Common Rooms? Why didn't they have to slowly freeze to death in the winters? A certain difference in furnishings was all too obvious, and any reason for the wolves of Gryffindor to get any cosiness escaped him. Wolves were supposed to sleep out in the cold, in his book. Well, it had been in his book until he lost it. He might have dropped it off the Astronomy Tower, although what he had been doing at the Astronomy Tower at this time of night with a book was a little unclear. But he was sure of one thing; he hadn't been looking for badgers.  
  
Hermione giggled again, and pulled him to his feet. She said something, but Blaise couldn't for the life of him puzzle out what it was. They plopped down in front of the fire, in the large, comfortable couch. Unfairness struck again; the couches in the Slytherin Common Room were never that comfortable; they were all angles and edges. Salazar Slytherin had had a very odd sense of humour. Blaise stared into the fire, and barely noticed as Hermione put her head on his shoulder and yawned. Something about the last few hours bothered him; he was sure he had done something he shouldn't have, though he couldn't quite remember what it was.  
  
The next half hour was pretty fussy as well; Blaise did not remember much after Hermione turned his head around suddenly; all he did remember was thinking "sobriety be damned", and then it all just sort of faded away into a muddled grey colour. He fell asleep sometime close to midnight.  
  
******'  
  
Sunlight should not be allowed that early in the morning, or so Blaise decided when he woke up. He had a pounding headache, and the infernal sunlight was not making it any better. He cracked open one eye, and realised he was staring straight at something that closely resembled human skin, in a very close-up perspective. Very close-up. Half an inch, or so, judging by the way his eyelashes kept brushing against it. Now, if he could only remember where the hell he was, he would be half-way to getting somewhere.  
  
First, after the Triple S meeting, he had gone to the library. From there, he had moved to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks. After that, he did remember leaving, but only vaguely, and had no idea where he'd gone and whom he was currently being very close to. Hopefully, this person did not have any embarrassing oddities he would have to deal with; waking up with a stranger was certainly bad enough. Blinking a few more times, and wishing he could go back to sleep but knowing he couldn't, Blaise sat up.  
  
Red. Everywhere, everything was red. The couches, the walls, the carpets, heck, even the tables were painted red. Who had they had for an interior decorator? Dumbledore? A feeling of dread rose in the pit of his stomach, because he clearly recognised the place, although he could swear that he had never been there before. There was only one place in the world that would be uniform red, and that was the Gryffindor Common Room. Now, he remembered his mission, as it was the reason for going to Hogsmeade, but somehow, he had accomplished it during the night without meaning to. He couldn't remember how, but his memory kept throwing up the word "porcupine" for some reason.  
  
Porcupines were not important, however; he needed to find out whom he had been sleeping next to. He turned his head, and met the sleepy eyes of Hermione Granger. Reality decided to bash him the back of his head and dance on his corpse, it seemed. Things like this did not happen unless the universe ganged up on him. To be fair though, she seemed just as horrified as he was.  
  
"I would ask where I am, but I already know. I will ask, however, how I ended up here." He said carefully, trying not to disturb her sense of Gryffindor honour and rattle her to attack him.  
  
"I have no clue," She admitted, apparently making the same effort he did, "But I do know that you will be lynched by the rest if you don't leave right now."  
  
He nodded, and looked around for the exit. He was halfway there before he remembered the last part of his mission; to get something to prove his presence in the Gryffindor Common Room. He turned back, and stood there for a moment, torn between leaving before anyone discovered him, and completing his assignment. In the end, he chose the latter; snatching up a sweater with a big ´H´ on it, he headed out as quickly as he could, ignoring Granger's indignant gasp at his act of thievery. Hopefully, the sweater would be enough for Draco as evidence; there was no way he was being thrown to the wolves again, even if he had escaped without a scratch this time.  
  
It was much too early for breakfast, and he headed down to the dungeons instead, stuffing the sweater under his rather rumpled cloak to keep it hidden. His headache had yet to subside, and he glared at the poor Ravenclaw second year who tried to ask him for the way to some obscure classroom. Had they no sanity? It was six o' clock on a Saturday morning, and the Ravenclaws were looking for a classroom. Well, that was a comfort; even in the strangest of times, when everything was turned on its head, he could always be sure of the Ravenclaws remaining the same way they always were.  
  
His dormitory was quiet as he entered, marked only by the snoring of Crabbe and Goyle and the quiet breathing of Draco in another one of his spectacular sleeping positions. This time, he had chosen to sleep with his body halfway off the bed, and his head on his nightstand, and his legs over the edge of his bed. Shaking his head and sighing, Blaise hid the sweater beneath his pillow, tucked in so that it couldn't be seen, and headed down into the Common Room again, but only after pulling on another high-necked sweater. There was no way he was wearing the same clothes two days in a row.  
  
As he had slept very little that night, he found himself dozing off on the couch, contemplating how much nicer the Gryffindor's couches were. Unfairness ruled the world, it seemed. Maybe an hour had passed when Draco came down the stairs, looking rather tired, but not as tired as he felt. The blonde spotted him and grinned.  
  
"Where were you last night, Blaise?" He asked teasingly, "You didn't come back at all."  
  
Blaise just raised his eyebrow and snorted, turning away to face the fire. The hearth was the only place radiating warmth in the green and silver Common Room, so he did not enjoy having to turn away from it. Draco sat down next to him, stretching out and trying to get his hair into place.  
  
"So, you finally got a girl did you?" Draco grinned, "About time too; I was getting suspicious about you, I'll have you know. Any longer and I would've set you up with someone. Who was it?"  
  
"It's none of your bloody business, Draco," Blaise snapped back, suddenly defensive at the thought of himself and Hermi - Granger as anything else than neutral parties between Potter and Draco. "Nothing happened; I went to Hogsmeade and got myself drunk and spent the night sleeping in the Common Room."  
  
"Yeah, and those love bites on your neck just got there by magic, right?" Draco snorted.  
  
Blaise's eyes widened and he clapped a hand on his neck. Love bites? Reality had not only bashed him in the back of his head and danced on his corpse; it had hung him out to dry on the castle walls too; it was clearly impossible for things to get any worse. Groaning and burying his head in his hands, Blaise gave up. The last twenty-four hours had been worse than his whole stay at Hogwarts, up to and including Slytherin's many humiliating defeats in Quidditch. And things were about to get worse.  
  
"Mr Zabini!" Seldom had the Slytherin students seen their Head of House so upset, "The Headmaster wants to have a word with you now!"  
  
Swallowing hard and feeling generally miserable, Blaise made his way to the Headmaster's office, dreading what was to come. He just knew he was going to get into trouble, or already had. He cursed alcohol and its amnesia- inducing properties. Never would he drink again, he vowed, though he knew he was going to break that promise as soon as Friday rolled around again. At the rate he was going, he would be drunk again by Tuesday.  
  
******'  
  
Professor Dumbledore twinkled at the two of them from behind his glasses. Blaise did not trust twinkles. Twinkles were the sort to smile at you and tell you you're wonderful, and then step back so that your blood didn't get on their suits. His hangover-paranoia was never this bad usually, but maybe a meeting with the Headmaster had triggered it. Herm - Granger was sitting next to him, fiddling in her chair. He knew all too well what this had to be about; they had done something bad, like breaking fifty school rules in one night, and were now about to be expelled. He just knew it.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Professor Dumbledore asked.  
  
"Good." Blaise mumbled, and H - Granger nodded quickly.  
  
"Well, apparently the two of you were feeling quite well last night as well," Dumbledore twinkled. No one could twinkle quite like Dumbledore, Blaise decided. "I have gotten some rather odd reports about events that transpired last night, well after curfew. A broom, which Madam Hooch tells me is of the brand Silver Arrow, was left stuck in a hedge on the grounds, at a gravity-defying angle, I am told."  
  
Blaise winced. That Silver Arrow had been a gift from his father, and he could just imagine the parental reaction to it being stuck in a hedge. Screaming would definitely be involved. Her - Grang- oh hell, he would just call her Hermione; it wasn't as if anyone would read his thoughts. Hermione was looking at him strangely.  
  
"An owl belonging to Professor Flitwick has been found on the top of the Astronomy Tower, painted bright orange with purple polka-dots, and was quite distressed by it all." Dumbledore went on. He seemed to be enjoying this. "Severus sent a complaint about Minerva, saying she had sent him bawdry poems. Of course, Minerva denies this, and I am quite sure you know where these poems come from. Mind you, some of them were quite good. ´Severus will see England, he will see France, he will see´- well, I am sure I need not read them out,"  
  
Groaning, Blaise sank deeper in his seat and concentrated on one of the portraits instead, listening to Dumbledore's rattled list. Somewhere, underneath all the berating and scolding, there was a huge stream of amusement too, and he hoped the Headmaster wouldn't punish them too hard.  
  
"Mr Filch has complained about two students trying to assault Mrs Norris, and finally, there have been some violations of the decorations in the Great Hall. Someone appears to have written ´Potter stinks´ in large green letters and someone else has added ´And so does Ferret-Boy´ in smaller script beneath it. The smallest letter is two feet tall." Dumbledore chuckled, "I am well aware that you are responsible for this. Of course, this is a grave violation of school rules. I will need to dock you thirty points from each House, and give you a detention."  
  
Shock was too light a word; Blaise had thought they were going to be expelled for sure. But thirty points removed and detention was bad enough. They had gotten off easily, but looming ahead was removing that scribbled paint in the Great Hall. That was the only logical thing for them to do in their detention after all. Dumbledore twinkely-twinkled at him from behind half-moon glasses, and Blaise swallowed.  
  
"Now, that was all; you are free to go. Mr Zabini, please remain; I want a quick word with you." The Headmaster finished.  
  
Blaise remained in his chair as Hermione rose and got out, looking pale and nervous. For her, losing thirty points and getting a detention had to be worse than expulsion. Swallowing, Blaise wondered to himself whether he would get even harsher consequences of their various drunken pranks. He stared at Dumbledore silently, too scared to speak.  
  
"Mr Zabini, I must congratulate you on your efforts," Dumbledore said, leaning across his desk, "No Slytherin student has been inside the Gryffindor Common Room in three hundred years time. I see fit to award you forty points for such a wonderful accomplishment."  
  
Blaise nodded, shaken by this complete turn of events, and got up, not caring that he hadn't been dismissed. Spending any amount of time alone with Dumbledore would either make you go mad or frighten the wits out of you. This encounter was heading for the latter. He was out the door before Dumbledore had time to say anything else, and failed to see the old man sitting behind his desk and smiling widely.  
  
"Those two," He shook his head, chuckling, "I believe I shall have to award Ms Granger forty points as well, for her commendable way of dealing with a drunken Slytherin. Wouldn't you say, Phineas?"  
  
"I say you spend too much time coddling your students, Dumbledore," Phineas Nigellus replied, "But this pair will indeed be an interesting watch."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
******'  
  
"Zabini! Wait up!"  
  
Blaise spun around on his heels, having gotten no further than a few feet away from Dumbledore's office. Hermione was running from the other end of the corridor, waving her hand. He stopped and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her. Strange that she still wanted anything to do with him after he had gotten her drunk and probably snogged her as well, judging from the look of his neck.  
  
"What?" He asked, just as she stopped to catch her breath.  
  
"When do I get my sweater back?" She replied, glaring slightly at him.  
  
"Whenever I have time to get it; it's in my dorm," Blaise shrugged, "I'll get it back to you as soon as possible."  
  
"Why did you steal it in the first place?" She demanded, standing up straight and crossing her arms. "It wasn't as if I'd offended you, was it?"  
  
So it was her sweater; he had figured so by the ´H´ on it, but he hadn't been sure. Blaise looked at her silently for a moment, contemplating the pros and cons of telling her the pure and simple truth. Not that the truth was simple, and it was as far from pure as you could get without getting your feet muddy.  
  
"Well, I guess it's only fair to tell you the truth after the trouble I got you in. You have my permission to bash my head into the wall if you can reach that high, because I'm feeling pretty foolish right now." Blaise sighed, "You know about the student societies, right? Well, Slytherin has its own, and we call it Triple S. We meet once a week, usually Fridays, and give each others tasks that have to be completed by Monday morning. I got one that could only be classified as devilishly difficult. I had to break into the Gryffindor Common Room and bring something back to show for it. Sometimes, I think Draco hates me, but that's not the point. I got in, even though it was by accident, and while I was there, I thought I might as well steal something. Your sweater just happened to be closest to me at the time."  
  
"So, all this because of a stupid dare?" She looked furious, he noted.  
  
"Not only. I didn't mean to get you drunk and act like an idiot, honestly. I was going to trick some little first year into telling me the password and just break in." Blaise looked sheepish. "It's all for nothing anyway; Draco won't take that sweater as enough proof. I'll just have to do everyone's homework for three days. That's the penalty for failing," He added at her confused look.  
  
She looked thoughtful for a while, before turning completely around and surprising him even further than the civil conversation had. She was grinning, and it was a decidedly evil grin. It seemed almost Slytherin in its quality. Blaise blinked. This was going to be a long day; his head was sore, he had just lost and earned Slytherin seventy points in total, and had gotten a detention from the Headmaster, had revealed the secret of Triple S to a Gryffindor, who was now grinning at him.  
  
"So, if you get back with just my sweater, you'll be severely embarrassed and punished?" Blaise nodded at her question, not exactly seeing where she was heading, "But if you get something else, something that proves you were there, Malfoy will be embarrassed because you succeeded? It's all a game of humiliation?"  
  
"Yes, kind of." He shrugged. No point in disagreeing with her just for the sake of disagreeing. She was right.  
  
"You know, if you promise not to tell anyone of what happened last night, I could help you." She suggested. "Embarrassing Malfoy is too good an opportunity to pass up."  
  
"H - Granger, are you a Slytherin?" Blaise questioned, "Because that was the most green-and-silver comment I've heard all week. But how could you help me?"  
  
"I could get you something else to give to Draco as evidence. Sheesh, and they say you're the smartest of the lot." She rolled her eyes. "So, are you accepting my offer?"  
  
"Sure; what do I have to lose?" He held out his hand, and she took it, "What'll you get me?"  
  
"Turn around," She ordered after looking down the corridor to see if anyone was coming.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Turn around dimwit, or don't you want any help?" She looked at him as if he had just admitted that he couldn't even spell his own name properly.  
  
Muttering, but restraining himself from strangling her for calling him dimwit, he turned around. She rummaged around behind his back, and he wondered what she could possibly conjure up in the middle of a corridor that required him turning around. Not that he wasn't grateful for it; ever since he had discovered that he had love-bites on his neck, and realising she was the only person who could have made them, he had been having a hard time looking her straight in the eye, because love-bites on him meant there were probably a few on her as well. That meant he had been getting embarrassingly close to a certain Gryffindor. Alcohol really shouldn't be allowed within ten miles of him.  
  
She moved around some more, accompanied by a lot of rustling cloth, before she cleared her throat, and he took it as a signal that he could turn around again. He did, and was greeted by the sight of a slightly blushing Hermione Granger, who was hiding something behind her back, and smiling in an embarrassed sort of way.  
  
"Now, I've got about ten minutes before I have to meet Ron and Harry in the Common Room. Wish you luck," She said and started running down the corridor, but not before pushing something into his hands.  
  
Blaise blinked once more, and cursed sleep depravation; it was making him slow thinking. He stared after her for a moment, before looking down at what she'd given him. The second later, Weasley would have been envious of the colour of his face. Now he was convinced Hermione was a Slytherin in disguise; nothing would embarrass Draco more than that, and most certainly embarrassed him.  
  
In his hands, looking very much out of place was a red and gold coloured bra. He hurriedly stuffed it in his pocket, not knowing what to make of Hermione's complete change of mind, and hurried down the corridor. He stopped every once in a while to bash his head against the wall, just for good measure; he definitely needed to get the horrible mental picture out of his head right now, or he would never be able to look her in the eye again without sputtering like an idiot.  
  
*******'  
  
Detention. Draco had pestered him about it all day, ever since he got back, demanding to know why. All he'd gotten was some half-arsed tale about bumping into McGonagall and not apologising. Whether he believed it or not could be questioned, but either way Blaise was standing in the Great Hall, reading the message he and Hermione had supposedly scrawled there last night. Now he could finally fit the pot of green paint into his memory. He still had to sort out how he had been able to compose bawdry limericks to Snape and sign them Minerva though; he knew he had gotten back with Hermione to Hogwarts pretty quickly, though it had been a bumpy ride, and that they then crash-landed in a hedge. Then things got a bit fussy, but he had to fit assaulting Mrs Norris, painting on the wall, colouring an owl and writing poetry into a timeframe of at the most three hours. And his head was still feeling out of order.  
  
Argus Filch and his filthy cat were waiting for them with some sponges and a bucket-load of water. Blaise scowled, but took it silently, and he and Hermione set to work. Scrubbing at the letters uselessly for a while, Blaise refused to look at her; he enjoyed his facial colour the way it was, and blushing like a freaking tomato wouldn't help him right now. In the pocket of his robes, her bra still resided; he had been too afraid of someone going through his things to leave it in his dormitory. Draco might find it earlier than planned, and then he'd be "The-Boy-Who-Shagged-A- Gryffindor", as if his previous nicknames weren't enough. Never mind that he never actually shagged a Gryffindor.  
  
That was what he believed at least; he couldn't remember further than turning his head last night when she pulled at it, but the marks on his neck proved things had gotten heated before he fell asleep. And from what he could remember of this morning, she hadn't been wearing much in the way of a shirt when they woke up either. He had been wearing his clothes though, so maybe they hadn't gotten too far. Amnesia was, as of now, the most hated ailment in his book. If he had snogged a girl, he wanted to remember it; it wasn't worth forgetting unless said girl was outright horrible, and Hermione wasn't. He sighed, and bashed his head against the wall once more, just to get the insanity out of his head. Success was a long way off, but at least he could try.  
  
"Zabini; bashing ones head against the wall will result in damages both to ones scull and brain cells, so if you wish to keep your intelligence-level where it is, I suggest you stop now," Hermione commented on his right side, where she was trying to remove the ´F´ in ´Ferret-Boy´.  
  
"Sorry." He mumbled, "How's it going?"  
  
"Well, at this rate, we'll have Ferret-Boy written across the wall until we graduate. Some help would be nice," She threw him a glare, "Thanks for landing me in detention, Zabini; I really appreciate having my perfect record shot to hell."  
  
"Hey, it's not like I meant it!" He defended himself, "I just got down to the Three Bromsticks, and was going to get drunk on my own, when you just sat down at my table and looked miserable! I have no idea why you waste time on Weasley, since he obviously is head over heels with Brown. Either way, you looked so miserable, and the only way I know to cheer someone up is by getting them drunk enough and lose enough brain cells so they don't have brain capacity enough to be miserable anymore, so that's what I did. It wasn't as if I'd planned to end up in your Common Room and snog you senseless!"  
  
Thankfully, Filch had left them to their own devices, and weren't present as Blaise had an outburst of justified rage. Hermione was, however, and her jaw ended up somewhere in the vicinity of Professor Snape's office in the dungeons. Blaise glared at her, for daring to accuse him of intentionally getting her in trouble, as if that was what he did since he was Slytherin.  
  
"Snog me senseless?" Hermione echoed, "We didn't, did we?"  
  
"I don't know about you," Blaise said, fighting to remain clam, and tugging at his collar to show her his neck, "But I didn't do this by myself; these marks needed help to get there."  
  
Hermione paled, and then blushed, and then paled again. It was obvious she hadn't had any marks herself, or she did, and had just tried to ignore them, explain them away with some odd logic. Blaise stood glaring at her for a while, before realising exactly what he had said, and then turned back to the wall and began scrubbing furiously again. After a while, Hermione joined him in his endeavour, apparently choosing to ignore this new information in favour of sanity.  
  
"Sorry," She said suddenly, making him turn and stare at her.  
  
"For what?"  
  
"Accusing you that way; you didn't deserve it," She shrugged, "The only one who deserves blame in this situation is Malfoy. Have you, erm, proved you accomplished the mission yet?"  
  
"No; the, erm, item is still in my pocket," Blaise admitted, forcing himself not to blush; it was hard, trying not to think about Hermione that way, "I didn't want to leave it in my trunk since Draco is bound to go through it. He's gotten into his head that I shagged someone last night, and if he finds it, he'll have proof of that too. Triple S is meeting on Monday morning again."  
  
"Oh." She didn't look at him properly, "Well, hope it goes well for you."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
The scrubbing went on in silence, each student engrossed in trying not to thing of the other as anything else than a fellow student. It was amazing how much twenty-four hours could change.  
  
*******'  
  
"Hermione, why are you covered in green paint?"  
  
Well, Ginny had asked a reasonable question, as Hermione really was covered in smudged, half-dried green paint. Cleaning up the Great Hall had been difficult and tiring, as Filch wasn't satisfied until it was completely spotless, never mind that Blaise and Hermione had only painted on the wall. Hermione found herself glaring at Ginny, even though the girl hadn't done anything, and she collapsed in a chair in front of the fire, not caring that she was getting the furniture dirty.  
  
"Because Filch is a bloody bastard with no sense at all," She grumbled, upset so much that she no longer cared about the way she spoke. "He made us clean the whole Great Hall."  
  
"You mean you had detention?" Ginny asked, mouth agape, "What did you do?"  
  
"Well, it's a long story, and when you get to the bottom of it, it's all Malfoy's fault," Hermione sank deeper in her seat. "Everything's his fault, really."  
  
"Ah. Well, you had detention with Malfoy then? I pity you," Ginny made a face at the thought of being anywhere near the blonde haired Slytherin for an extended amount of time.  
  
"No, Malfoy got off, as usual," Hermione rolled her eyes, "I got stuck with Zabini, you know, the tall guy with the black hair and the odd eyes."  
  
"Odd eyes? I know who Zabini is, but I never noticed his eyes," A grin came over Ginny's face, "Fancying someone, are you?"  
  
"No!" Hermione protested, "He's just in the way all the time; the only thing good about him is that he doesn't insult me every time I turn around! Gah! The only thing that didn't annoy me about this detention was him; he kept his mouth shut at least. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."  
  
The climbed the stairs and collapsed into her bed for the first time in forty-eight hours. Sleep overtook her almost immediately, and she drifted off into dreams of green paint, polka-dotted owls and a boy with odd eyes.  
  
******'  
  
Sunday passed quickly, and soon Monday rolled around again. In the early hours of the morning, before the lessons started, even before breakfast, the members of the Triple S society gathered in a far off room to list the results of the weekend's tasks. Some of them looked worn and unhappy, while others smiled with pride of accomplishing their tasks perfectly. Blaise kept his expression carefully blank, not to alert Draco of anything beforehand.  
  
"So, everyone, how was the weekend?" Draco asked as they quietened down, "I trust you've all done your tasks? No? Well, it's only a month till Christmas break, so the punishments won't be too hard. We'll start with Millie, how'd it go?"  
  
"I got a lot out of that Hufflepuff; apparently they've been sneaking things in from Hogsmeade through a hidden passage in their Common Room." Millicent started, and grinned a bit at doing what she was told and correctly so, "Now I've got a promise to get a first-hand picking of those things that he brings in. He couldn't promise anything about the others, but it was a good start."  
  
"Yes it is." Draco nodded, "I was wondering where those good-for-nothing's got their food. Now, the moment we've all wondered about; Blaise. You were going to get into the Gryffindor Common Room, no? Well, tell us how badly you failed."  
  
Blaise raised an eyebrow, smirking. He had not failed, and it would be fun watching Draco squirm; all he had to do was wait for a while, before putting the scrap of clothing on the table. Being accused of shagging a Gryffindor was a small price to pay for getting Draco that embarrassed. Finally, after getting everyone's absolute attention, he pulled it out of his pocket and threw it on the table.  
  
"I would tell you how badly I failed, had I failed." Blaise grinned, "But as you can see, I didn't."  
  
On the table, standing out spectacularly was Hermione's gold and scarlet bra. The reaction to the sight was nothing less than hilarious; Millicent stared for a moment at it, before looking over at Blaise, and shook her head, snorting. Theodore Nott stared at it, mouth agape, making small, choked sounds at the back of his throat. Draco himself though, was the most hilarious reaction. He went red as a tomato, clearly not expecting Blaise to actually succeed, and when he noticed the colour of the underwear, he blinked, and shook his head.  
  
"You stole a Gryffindor girl's underwear?" Millicent asked, laughing, "I always knew you had it in you, Blaise!"  
  
"You shagged a Gryffindor!" Nott exclaimed, "But they're Gryffindors! And Mudblood lovers the lot of them! How could you?"  
  
"Yes. How could you shag a Gryffindor, Blaise?" Draco asked, recovering from his shock, "They're all disgusting, not to mention horribly dirty as well. Who was it?"  
  
"Doesn't matter, does it?" Blaise smirked, "I accomplished the task. But, if you excuse me, I have things to do."  
  
He walked out of the room, leaving behind a group of students wildly talking about his accomplishment, as well as a rather out-of-sorts Draco Malfoy. Well, he had just more or less admitted to shagging a Gryffindor, even though he hadn't. He liked messing with people's heads, and would have stayed longer, but he had a sweater to return and news to deliver. It wasn't every day you got to humiliate Draco Malfoy after all.  
  
*******'  
  
He found her in the Great Hall, attempting to eat her breakfast while explaining something to her friends very quickly. There were still traces of green paint on her face, although she had done her best to wash it away. He looked down at the sweater bundled up in his hands, and shrugged. He might as well return it now, since he wouldn't get much of a chance later. Facing the Gryffindor wolves wasn't a favourite activity of his, but hell, he needed to, and he could tell her that her plan had succeeded very well.  
  
The Gryffindors silenced as he approached, and Hermione looked around curiously until she spotted him with her sweater in his hands. Her faces lightened up, and she smiled the happiest smile he had seen in a long time. He found himself smiling back, for some reason that the logical voice in the back of his head sniggered at. That voice had saved him a lot of trouble over the years, but right now he wished it would go away for a while; it was getting annoying. He walked up the Gryffindor table, and stood there for a moment, silently, realising he didn't know what to say.  
  
"Hermione, I've got your sweater," He said in a rush, and only afterwards realised he had used her first name, "You said you wanted it back."  
  
"Thank you..Blaise," Hermione grinned, thinking it was clear to use his first name when he had used hers, "I appreciate it very much."  
  
She seemed to have a hard time not giggling. Blaise attempted to ignore everyone's incredulous looks, and handed her the sweater quickly. Now, if he could just figure out a way to get away from the table without the wolves eating him alive, he'd be home and dry.  
  
"It worked, you know," He said, in an attempt to keep the peace, "He sputtered and nearly choked."  
  
"He did?" She was delighted and jumped up, throwing her arms around him and hugged him. Bewildered, Blaise hugged her back, looking at the other Gryffindors apologetically over her shoulder. "That's great! I can't even imagine his face."  
  
"No, neither could I." Blaise replied, shrugging to get rid of her arms around him, but she wouldn't let go, "You won't get it back in a while though; I left it there."  
  
"Don't worry; I have others." Hermione smiled, stepping back a bit but not letting go of him.  
  
"Yeah," Blaise blushed slightly, trying not to look her in the eye, but failing miserably, "Good. Draco'll have my head though. He hates being tricked. Um, you know, I'm sure you can stand without clinging to me."  
  
Hermione stepped back, red in the face, and Blaise could hear the little Weasley sniggering behind her. Embarrassment had already been passed, and he was looking at it all with a sort of detached humiliation that didn't really matter. He really shouldn't get drunk; the after-effects lingered for so long. Hermione, despite sobriety, looking attractive, and if he didn't leave soon, he would be stuck in detention again for ravishing a fellow student in public. Taking fancy to someone while drunk was not a good idea, yet he had managed to do it and embarrassingly so.  
  
"Well, thank you. I think you should probably run now; Malfoy just came in." She warned.  
  
"Well, he'll be wanting to know which Gryffindor I supposedly shagged," Blaise shrugged, "You up for being embarrassed, because you're standing up next to me, and Draco isn't stupid."  
  
"It isn't as if my reputation could get any worse in his eyes," Hermione replied, although she was blushing fiercely. "I just wish you hadn't let him believe that, since it didn't happen."  
  
"You don't know that," Blaise said, scratching his head, "And to tell the truth, I don't either, but it isn't very likely, since I was wearing all my clothes when I woke up, and I have yet to be able to put my clothes on while drunk off my rocker."  
  
Draco was walking purposefully towards the two of them, a vicious smile on his face, followed by the usual group of students; Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy and the recent acquirement of Theodore Nott. Blaise did not shrink away, as was the traditional way of acting when approached by the Malfoy crew. Hermione didn't flinch either; maybe it was the Gryffindor backbone showing through.  
  
"So I see you've gotten yourself a Gryffindor girlfriend, Blaise," Draco said, coming to a stop in front of the Gryffindor table, "It's such a shame that you should choose Granger of all people."  
  
"I do have a Gryffindor girlfriend, Draco," Blaise replied, sounding cold. He hadn't liked the insult to Hermione being made right in front of her, "But I believe I shall let her speak for herself; you see, she's not like Pansy. Hermione's got a brain, for starters. I would stay and chat with you, but I've got some snogging to catch up on."  
  
Without waiting for a reply, he dragged Hermione out of the Hall, not caring that everyone saw them and that even the Hufflepuffs was staring at them and whispering. Hopefully, it would have blown over till tomorrow morning. He stopped as they reached the stairs, still holding on to her hand, but not knowing quite which way to go first.  
  
"Blaise?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Why did you stand up for me in front of Malfoy?" Hermione sounded so small.  
  
"Because he's annoying, he's stupid, he's vain and he's too sure of himself, and because you're nice, you're intelligent, you're funny when you're drunk and because I think you deserve to be stood up for." Blaise explained, not really listening to what he was saying, "And because they say Gryffindors to it better."  
  
The last line was delivered with a smile that was nothing short of lethal, and Hermione made a sound that could only be spelled "meep". Then she opened her mouth, and Blaise prepared for the scolding of his life, but she didn't yell, she didn't curse. She laughed. She laughed and laughed, until tears streamed down her cheeks, and Blaise couldn't help but chuckle with her. He didn't know exactly what she was laughing about, but he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.  
  
It must have been minutes before they stopped laughing, and then Hermione was hanging onto Blaise's shoulders to keep from falling down, and they were leaning against the wall. Still smiling, Blaise raised a hand to wipe away a tear from her cheek, and leaned forward. He did have a lot of snogging to catch up on, since he didn't remember their previous encounter. Hermione didn't seem at all against kissing him either.  
  
To think that in only two days, he had earned himself detention, crashed a broom and gotten a girlfriend. He should get drunk more often.  
  
****' The End ****'  
  
Ending Notes; well that did not turn out the way I wanted it to. Blaise seems too serious, but hey, I told the story I wanted to tell. Besides, I've got some sequels to this in the works, already half-planned out in my mind. I'll give you the post that inspired this whole one-shot, as posted by SkoosiePants;  
  
"Hmm... well, if they were very *publically* naughtily drunk, then yeah, I can see Dumbledore calling them in to talk to them. Both actually, even though only one of them (either) was drunk. He'd be disapproving, of course, but also bring up an amusing/embarrassing moment... like Blaise trying to 'pet the pretty kitty' [read Mrs. Norris]. Or Hermione flirting shamelessly with Crabbe and Goyle and mayhap even Malfoy. Or Blaise sending Snape a bawdy limric by owl and signing it Minerva. Or, you know.... various other things that could happen. Dumbledore knows all..." 


End file.
